


White as Snow and Black as Sin

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Abuse, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg "Snow White" Blanchard is Storybrooke's drug lord, with her "Prince Charming," David Nolan, as enforcer. They do business, they get paid, and they will always find you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White as Snow and Black as Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Snow and Charming, as drug dealers. There will be drug use, violence, and emotional blackmail in this fic: consider this your trigger warning.

 

“ _Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? It’s Snow White on my plate,_ _dancing with my razor blade."_   —In Strict Confidence’s song “Snow White." 

~               

                “Just enough for a few lines,” Ruby Lucas says, her thin hands clutching at the crumpled bills she means to use to pay. “Snow, please, I really need this.” Snow sneers, jabs a thumb at David. 

                “Count it, Prince Charming,” she says coolly, implacable and frigid as her name, seated cross-legged on her ragged throne. Ruby lets David pry the money from her hands and thumb through it, staring down at the threadbare purple carpet and shivering in the freezing room. Her breath makes little clouds in the air: she’s not dressed for the weather, in her worn jeans and jacket.

                “Twenty,” he reports. Snow considers, examining her long white nails, and shakes her head.

                “Please,” Ruby says. “Meg, come on—“ Snow shifts angrily on her throne: an ancient Baroque-looking armchair, with dark pitted wood and pale green upholstery. The grey embroidery is of grain and birds: out of place in this room, where everything is cold as death, especially the people.

                “Be careful,” David says, deep voice taking on an angry note. “You don’t make demands.” Snow tilts her head back and forth, calculating.

                “Ruby, I don’t usually bother with twenty dollars’ worth of anything. But I’ll make you a deal: in two days, I’ll send someone around to Granny’s with a package, which you’ll deliver to Mr. Clark at the drugstore with his lunch order.”

                “What package?” she asks, then regrets it as Snow leans forward, every trace of her former friend long gone from her face.

                “Don’t ask questions,” she says, her dark hazel eyes like frozen pine needles in her pale face. She takes a plastic baggie from inside her black jacket and tosses it to Ruby, who catches it with shaking hands. “Two lines worth. Next time bring me real money.” The junkie nods, and tucks it away. “Oh, and Ruby? I find everyone who wrongs me.”

                David watches her go, huddling as best as she can into her jacket.

                “What are you doing with that hayfever ridden wimp?” he asks idly, leaning on the back of her chair. She reaches a hand up and traces along his fingers with her long nail.

                “Mmm, Charming, you know me. I’m ambitious. There are never too many pies to sink your fingers into.” She springs up lightly from her chair, landing quietly on black-booted feet. Her look is all black, punctuated with red lipstick and white nails: a dark princess. She chose the name Snow White herself, a multi-layered joke on her profession, her past, and her personality. “Lock the door, my prince.” He complies, and turns to see her beckoning him with one crooked finger.

                “It’s cold in here.”

                “That a problem for you?” Her nails trace his lips, the scar on his jaw, the line of his chin. Her other hand fists in his jacket and shoves him roughly to the wall. He smiles, breath coming short, pale blue eyes (like ice to match her) heating.

                “No… my lady.”


	2. Welcome to the Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first meeting.

_"I know it’s only getting better as long as we’re together"_   —Kerli’s “Tea Party"

         ~

               The streets were cold, but Meg had long stopped noticing that unless it was dangerously cold, and then there were always churches to break into, with pews that made excellent beds. The streets were dirty, but she didn’t mind that anymore: as long as she kept clean, she had an advantage. Everyone else who huddled in the alleys and doorways of Storybrooke was filthy, shivering. She wasn’t clean exactly, and her long hair was straggly and turning ragged, but there was no dirt on her face and she had all her teeth.

                The Dragon sometimes gave her a place to crash, in exchange for doing jobs, taking care of handoffs, and then she could shower and rinse her change of clothes in her sink. Meg had plans involving the Dragon: the woman was sharp and scary, but she was getting blind in one eye and she had leg and back trouble. An apprentice was what she needed, someone to trust. Of course, Meg was not to be trusted, but the Dragon didn’t know that.

                She didn’t have a problem the way most of the people out on the streets did—oh, she had her problems, but not the same kind. She enjoyed a hit of blow like anyone else, it woke her up, made her sharp and fast and jittery, but she didn’t need it. Even the Dragon needed it. Dealers shouldn’t have problems. It was just good sense.

                She was curled up in her favorite spot in mid-October when she met David for the first time. There was a spot where two roofs came together and formed a little nest, sheltered by the overhanging branches of a young oak. She kept a sleeping bag and some food and water up there all the time, and no one ever found it. She came ‘home’ and fell asleep in her nest, only to wake up to the rustling of the tree branches and opened her eyes to see a ragged haired man climbing onto her roof.

                She slid out of her bag as fast as she could, pulling out her knife and hurrying forward, but he was already scrambling down the tree trunk, her plastic bag full of food in his fist.

                “Give me that, asshole!” she shouted, trying to blink away sleep and hurry down in the dark. He barked a laugh, and she saw him darting away down the street. “I’m going to find you!” she screamed.

                She was as good as her word: she found him two days later, and jumped down onto him from a gutter that could barely take her weight.

                “Oof!” he grunted, trying to clutch his knee and failing when her presence on his chest prevented him from curling forward. She took a handful of his hair and pulled his head back, placing her knife to his neck.

                “I told you I would find you,” she said. He blinked up at her, looking confused. She shook his head and slapped the side of his face. “Forgot already?  _Don’t steal from me_.”

                “You’re going to kill me over a bag of food?” he said, sounding incredulous. “Come on.” She frowned down at him and tapped his chin with the flat of her knife.

                “Maybe not. I could give you a nice cut, though.” He just smiled and shrugged, as if he didn’t care. On impulse, she leaned down and sniffed him. The scent was there, almost gone in the fall air, but still distinctive. “Ugh, fucking stoner. What are you doing with fucking Mary Jane on the streets?”

                “I like to not worry.” Meg sat back, arranging herself cross-legged on his torso.

                “Me too, but once you come out you still have all your problems.” She touched her jacket pocket. “You want to try something better?” He shrugged, after a fashion, and she stood up, hauling him to his feet.

                They went into a bookshop where the owner was nodded off behind his desk, Meg snagging a scrap of paper from the bulletin board. The bathroom was clean and she set a book on the counter ( _50 Roses for the Beginning Enthusiast_ ) before pulling out her little bag.

                “Coke?” he said, sounding surprised. She raised an eyebrow.

                “Scared?” she prodded. He shrugged, still a little too baked to care as she set them up two lines on the hard, clean cover of the book. The little piece of paper from the bulletin board she rolled into  tubes and handed one to him.

                “I’m David,” he said, mimicking her movements as they knelt at the corner of the counter.

                “You can call me Snow,” she said, and he grinned a little.

                “Doing snow with Snow.”                                                                                                  

                The rush was good: David looked a little spaced, blinking and rubbing his face a lot, but in a few minutes, she was boiling, stretching her legs in the bathroom and ready to go. The owner frowned at them as they hurried out, giggling a little.

                “Hey, what are you doing?” he yelled after them, and Meg just sprinted forward, enjoying the bite of the air, the wind tugging at her hair.

                She didn’t do stupid things like bang strangers after breaking into the basements of boarded-up shops, but it sort of unfolded anyway.  The building wasn’t heated, and the basement was dark, lit only by a single dusty window high in one wall. The floor was rough concrete, covered sporadically with pieces of unsecured carpet, and littered with pencil stubs and roach carcasses. They did more blow, washed their hair in the sink, and she noticed that when she jerked on his hair, his eyes got heavy and hungry. He was strong, not wasted away like most people who were on the streets, but his limbs went weak when she decided to push him down on his back on the dirty floor.

                “Like that?” she said. He pushed back, getting to his feet and hauling her back, an angry, hungry light in his eyes. The effects of the weed were definitely gone. Thank goodness.

                “You gotta work for it, Snow White,” he said, and that was all the invitation she needed.

                “And you’re Prince Charming?” she said, walking them to the wall and slamming his head back against it. The blow only made him smile lazily at her and grip at her waist.

                “If you like.”

                She fell asleep with him, crashed after doing more blow than she was used to and the ensuing sex. She woke up sore and stiff on the floor, and thoughtful. She nudged David awake.

                “Hey, Prince Charming.” He rubbed his face—it was a habit, she was starting to see—and looked at her.

                “Yeah?” She smiled her brightest smile at him.

                “Do you want to conquer this town with me?”


End file.
